The Deeper We Fell
by ghostsweat
Summary: A sob emitted from above her. She raised her face towards the ceiling and listened as a young girl cried in a panicked manner. She kept her hearing strained, listening out at the movements above her. The shuffle against the floorboard, the creak of the pantry door shutting, more sobbing. She screamed against the handmade muzzle.


CHAPTER ONE: TEAR THE ROOTS

She wasn't aware of how long she was there for.

She had lost count after eighty-three days.

Her mind had become a blur with exhaustion, dehydration and malnutrition.

Each day seemed to stretch longer than the day before; the hours moulding into one huge and never-ending block of uncertainty, hopelessness and sheer desperation. She wondered if her family were looking for her, searching high and low for her, grasping at any possible sighting of her. Had they stopped looking for her? Did they even know she was missing?

Her mind was not what it used to be. Her job required her to think fast and act faster. Her entire life had revolved around her career; and it was something she took pride in knowing she could handle such tough tasks with a deadline and a severe outcome looming over her.

Life had been simple for her. Her career took up most of her time, and relationships were something she had given up on after a rough break up. And that day… it had been such a normal day, and it had all gone horribly wrong.

She had stopped off at a garage to have her vehicle checked. She had travelled to work by bus and had finished work at a normal time. But something had seemed odd, as if something had been off kilter as soon as she walked out of those double doors. It was strangely quiet as she walked towards the bus stop, and though the hairs on the back of her neck raised in concern and panic, she couldn't put a finger on why she felt the way she did.

A few vehicles passed her by, and with a quick glance down at her watch was all it had taken for him to gather the courage to strike. A hand covering her mouth to stop her from screaming out, a strong arm wrapping around her arms to stop her from fighting against him. He had quickly dragged her to the vehicle – one that had previously passed her just moments before – and she had fought against him as if her life depended on it. And it had. There was no way she was being taken without a fight. She kicked, bucked, threw her weight at him but he was stronger. Every kick she threw at him, he was determined against her attack.

Her consciousness had wavered soon after and she couldn't remember anything else. She woke up a few hours later – or what she had assumed to be a few hours – in the basement of an abandoned house. No sounds, no talking, no traffic could be heard. The only thing she was aware of when she was surveying her surroundings was the sound of birds overhead.

But she had never expected her life to come to this.

He kept her in the basement for most of the day, only bringing her up into the house on special occasions when her behaviour had been good, and she hadn't tried to attack him or curse at him. She couldn't help but mutter curse words at him; she was frustrated and tired, and all she wanted to know was why.

Why did he choose her? Why did he want to keep her this way? Why?

He was quiet for the most part. But there were moments where she would see his personality come out. He would ask her questions about herself, about her life before this, who she had been. She would always feel bile rise to her throat as she spoke about her life and who she was before she was _his_.

He would watch her for the entire conversation; his attention never wavering from her. She would find it off putting but she found that she was able to use it to her advantage. The more interested he was in her, the more she was able to bring his guard down. He was private; and after all the time spent together, she didn't even know his name. He knew everything about her and yet it seemed too difficult for him to open up to her.

She found it intensely frustrating. And there had been moments where she knew she could fight him and get away. But it seemed he could read her mind as soon as the thought entered her mind. He would warn her with a sharp tone to his voice and she would look away. He would then drag her downstairs into the basement as punishment.

As his trust towards her grew, she was allowed to spend more time in the main house. She would cook for him and clean the house for his return. The doors and windows were bolted shut with wood fixed to each potential exit. He would return sometime later with tins of food and magazines for her as a reward for tidying and cooking for him.

It became a routine. He would leave early and return late in the evening when the sun was setting in the distance. She would spend the day doing chores, reading, repairing their clothes as they became worn down.

He had returned one evening late, drunk out of his mind. And she had seen the opportunity then and there. His movements had been clumsy and delayed in a way she had never seen before; he had always been sharp and precise, but this time was different, and she heard it loud and clear.

Freedom was just a fingertip away and she could taste it.

She had watched as he stumbled towards the kitchen, plates clattering to the floor as his elbow swiped them accidentally. She had rushed past him, reaching the door in record time, and as quickly as she could, she unlocked the door and was pulling it open. But he had caught her just in time, wrapping his strong arm around her waist and yanking her tightly away from the door. She fought with every fibre of her being and though his condition was unstable, he carried her down into the basement.

 _"And to think I fucking trusted you!"_ he seethed in her face as he tied her to the pipe. He wrapped a piece of fabric tightly over her mouth to prevent her from screaming out for help. He stared at her for a moment before shaking his head. He turned him back then and stumbled up the stairs.

And that had been the last time she had seen him. It had been –

 _One, two, three_ … she counted in her head.

Three days.

Three long days.

She waited for any sign of him, but her hope was beginning to dwindle. She listened out for him, for the familiar creak of the floorboards above her, but when there was nothing but silence, she feared the worst. If he was there, he was playing a cruel game with her. But if he had left then she feared for another day down in the basement.

She thought of the possible outcomes, and every single one them ended up with her dead. And she couldn't allow that. She needed to fight back, and with the remaining strength and courage she had beating in her heart was something she had to rely on.

But she had heard it before she could comprehend what was happening.

A sob emitted from above her.

She raised her face towards the ceiling and listened as a young girl cried in a panicked manner. She kept her hearing strained, listening out at the movements above her. The shuffle against the floorboard, the creak of the pantry door shutting, more sobbing.

She screamed against the handmade muzzle. She cried out against the strain of it against her face. She kicked her feet against the concrete ground. But it was no good.

The girl continued to cry, her sobs filling the woman's ears. As she struggled against the restraints, she closed her eyes as she listened to the young girl cry out for her mama.

..

 _Author's Note: Hello! Thank you for stumbling across this story! So, I got this idea when Maggie found the body of a walker-woman bound and gagged in the boot of the car, and I couldn't shake the idea of the possibility of that happening in different circumstances in this world. This story will be set in Season 2 when Sophia finds shelter in the pantry of an abandoned house. I hope you enjoy!_

 _Please leave a comment as I'd love to know what you think of this so far!_


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